Chapter 46
Ethan
The last day of Summerfest felt like a knot in my chest I couldn’t untangle.
The rides still spun, kids still shrieked, and grill smoke curled into the sky like nothing had changed.
But everything had. Lily was leaving. I’d spent the whole summer circling the words I wanted to say, and now there was no time left.
I stacked folding chairs after the community brunch, smiled at neighbors, did all the things that made the fair run, but inside I was reeling.
Every laugh, every cheer, every banner fluttering in the breeze pressed the truth deeper.
I’d never manned up to tell her I loved her. And now I was going to lose her.
The church ladies cleared away the last of the brunch dishes, and by noon, the talent show stage was set up under the striped tent near the playground.
Parents fanned themselves in the heat, camcorders balanced on their shoulders, while kids in sequins, cowboy boots, or grass-stained sneakers lined up nervously at the side.
Kayla crouched there like a stage mom, clipboard in hand, ushering kids up and down with a grin.
Lily was beside her, adjusting a crooked bow tie or squeezing a small hand, all nerves smoothed away by her cheer.
Watching her there—bright, gentle, completely at ease with them—made my chest ache all over again.
The show kicked off with a five-year-old belting “Twinkle Twinkle” at the top of her lungs while her mom clicked a disposable camera in the front row. Then came a tumbling routine that ended in a spectacular face plant, but the applause was thunderous anyway.
Next, Ian marched out in his sunglasses, dragging Ava by the hand.
A boom box crackled, and “Whoomp! (There It Is)” burst from the speakers.
Ian lip-synced with exaggerated swagger, hitting the chorus with dramatic points at the crowd, while Ava twirled in circles and tossed in a few emphatic shouts.
The crowd absolutely lost it. By the final chorus, Ava had abandoned the song entirely and was now freestyle dancing, limbs flying with such conviction that the audience doubled over, handkerchiefs dabbing at eyes crinkled with laughter.
Matt dropped his voice and shifted closer as Ava took her bow. “Kid’s got more confidence than I ever did. Wonder where she gets it.”
I smirked. “Sarah. Obviously.”
Matt laughed and leaned back in his folding chair, still grinning at the kids on stage. “So… how’s it going with Lily?”
I kept my eyes on the crowd. “It’s not. We had an argument Friday night, and it’s been awkward ever since.”
Matt winced. “That’s rough, man.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered. “She’s leaving.”
He let that sit for a second, then shook his head. “Then make it matter while she’s here.”
An hour later, after too many fried snacks and a detour through the 4H barn where Ian insisted on showing me every single goat, the crowd began drifting toward the bandstand for the Small Town Heroes Recognition Ceremony.
Picnic blankets spread across the grass, kids sticky with cotton candy tumbling into laps, the easy buzz of the fair shifting into something quieter.
I followed, stomach tight. Part of me hated these ceremonies—how they cracked open wounds and left you raw in front of your neighbors. But part of me knew it mattered, too. Remembering the people who built this town, who gave their time and their lives to it… people like Dad.
The chatter dimmed as Mayor Davis climbed the steps, his face solemn.
“Willowbrook has always been built on the backs of its people,” he began, voice carrying just enough over the speakers.
“Farmers, teachers, volunteers, neighbors who show up when it matters most. Today, we honor those who’ve given this town their time, their talent, and, in some cases, their lives. ”
Lily stood just behind him with a basket of long-stemmed roses, ribbon-wrapped, her usual sparkle softened into something steady and respectful.
The first name was called: Dorothy Collins, who’d run the food pantry for thirty years. Her daughter walked up, tears in her eyes, and accepted the rose with a small nod of thanks.
Then, Coach Henderson was honored for his decades of coaching Little League and teaching half the town to throw a fastball. A group of teens whooped as his wife accepted the rose on his behalf.
And then: Daniel Calloway.
I felt the air punch out of my chest. My mother rose slowly from her seat, hand trembling as she took the rose Lily held out.
Lily’s fingers hovered over her before pulling her into a strong hug.
Mayor Davis bowed his head. “A man who gave his time, his stories, and his heart to Willowbrook. A father, a friend, and a legacy.”
The silence that followed was heavy. I found myself on my feet before I realized it, clapping hard, my throat raw. Around me, the town followed—applause swelling into something bigger than grief, something like gratitude.
Lily’s eyes found mine across the crowd. For a heartbeat, everything else disappeared—the applause, the crowd, the fairgrounds. Just her eyes locked with mine across the distance, both of us standing in that raw space between yesterday's grief and tomorrow's uncertainty.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I cut through the clusters of families folding up lawn chairs and tossing paper plates, straight toward her.
She was standing near the bandstand, clipboard tucked under her arm, the late light catching on the gold threads woven through her sundress.
She looked like the heartbeat of the festival—radiant, magnetic, like she belonged to everyone.
And still, somehow, she was mine to want.
“You’ve done it,” I said when I reached her. “The whole town’s alive again because of you.”
She tilted her head, that quick spark of pride in her smile making my chest ache. “They showed up because they love Willowbrook. I just gave them a reason.”
“You gave them more than that,” I pressed. “You gave them hope.”
Her eyes softened for a beat, then flicked away, scanning the crowd like she needed to anchor herself anywhere but on me. “And then…” Her voice faltered before she steadied it. “And then I’ll move on. That’s what I do.”
Something inside me cracked. “Why? Why does it always have to be the next job, the next city? What about here? What about us?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “There is no us, Ethan. There can’t be.”
I stepped closer. “You care about me. Right?”
Her laugh was sharp, bitter. “Of course I care. And that’s exactly why I can’t stay.
You want the truth? Fine.” She whipped around, her voice low but shaking.
“Do you know why I keep chasing the next thing? Because I have no one. I’ve never had anyone.
Foster homes, neglect, being the kid no one kept—yeah, that’s me.
So there. Now you know my big secret. Pity me once I’m gone. ”
The words hit like a fist. Before I could answer, she turned and strode back into the crowd, leaving me hollowed out and furious at myself for pushing her there.
I found Carol near the lemonade stand. She looked up, took one look at my face, and sighed.
“You’ve got the look your father wore whenever he was in the doghouse with your mother,” she said. “That, or you ate bad potato salad.”
I huffed a laugh. “At least he had a wife to be in the doghouse with. I’m on track to be Willowbrook’s most eligible hermit.”
“Oh, please.” She looped her arm through mine and steered us toward the shade of the tent. “I thought you and Lily were… something.”
“I want us to be,” I said, too fast. Then softer, “More than anything.”
“But?” Carol prompted, brows up.
“She’s leaving.” The words scraped on the way out. “And it’s not just the job. It’s… she’s been hurt. For a long time.”
Carol’s expression gentled. “Mm.”
I stared at the grass. “She told me some of it.”
“She told me too,” Carol said quietly. “And I’m glad she did.”
That undid me more than I meant it to. “Yeah?”
Carol squeezed my arm. “Honey, people don’t hand you the heaviest parts of themselves unless they’re hoping you’ll help carry them.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You’re not here to fix her,” Carol said, eyes misted. “Maybe she’s too scared to wish for what she really needs. Maybe you have to be the one to wish it for her. To show her.” She squeezed my hand. “Don’t let her walk away just because she thinks she has to.”
I straightened suddenly, a lightning bolt of clarity striking through the fog.
"Oh my God, you’re right. Thanks, Carol," I said, my eyes widening as the pieces clicked into place.
My fingers snapped once, twice, as if trying to catch the idea before it could escape.
"Wait—I know exactly what I need to do."
She gave me that knowing look, the kind that made me feel twelve years old again, before patting my arm and shooing me off.
I cut across the fairgrounds, weaving through kids holding balloons and the smell of fryers working overtime, until I found Ben, Nate, and Matt by the grills. I pulled them in close, dropped my half-mad idea in a rush, and waited.
Their faces broke into wide grins. Then nods.
If Lily needed proof this town loved her, that I loved her, we were going to give her the loudest proof possible.
***
The fairgrounds looked like a dream painted in strings of lights.
Lanterns swayed overhead, vendors packed up their last pies and lemonade, kids darted through the grass with glow sticks like fireflies.
The stage stood ready, cables coiled, amps humming.
And for the first time all weekend, the crowd quieted in unison when Lily walked up the steps.
She gripped the mic with both hands, scanning the sea of faces—friends, neighbors, families pressed shoulder to shoulder. The kind of crowd Willowbrook hadn’t seen in years. Her voice wavered, just a little.